


The Breakfast Club

by Captain_Panda



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Humor, Literally Just Avengers Being Goofs, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26800279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda
Summary: You ever seen that "Who broke it?" sketch fromParks and Recreation?Let's just say Steve Rogers is not having the best morning as the World's Okayest Dad, but he is keeping the family fed, and that's what really matters.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	The Breakfast Club

**Author's Note:**

> https://youtu.be/TUTAL9LDHRc
> 
> In case you HAVEN'T seen "Who Broke It?" that is a link to one of my favorite sketches in TV history.
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoy this fluffy adventure. Whump coming SOON.
> 
> -Cap

Steve was proud to be an Avenger. Proud to serve.

Proud, he told himself, scrutinizing the coffee grounds in the kitchen sink, to deal with the conflicting interests of seven very different people. “I’m not mad,” he started, “I just wanna know.”

The Vision offered, “Well. Seeing as how coffee is made—”

“Who did it?” Steve interjected. “I’m not mad,” he insisted, as seven sets of eyes looked back at him, ranging from bored to hopeful.

“I’m just here to see who gets their ass handed to ‘em by Cap,” Rhodey said, taking a sip of his coffee. “My money’s on Barton.”

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Clint replied. “For the record, I did _not_ , but I _could_ take you any day of the week, Cap.”

“Nobody is taking anyone,” Steve insisted, the picture of diplomatic calm. He had even skipped the uniform, in the hopes that dressing down would show that he was on _their_ side, not some big mean authority figure ready to crack the whip. “I just—”

“It was Clint,” Natasha affirmed.

Clint turned to face her, wounded. “Et tu, Natalia?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You _really_ wanna do this?”

“I do if it’s—”

“ _Who_ ,” Steve interjected, “poured coffee grounds in the kitchen sink?”

Seated on a chair, Bruce flung a hand in the air. “It was me,” he said. “I did it. Just let me clean it up.” He lunged to his feet.

“ _No,_ ” Steve insisted, some of his irritation beginning to show. Bruce cowered back into his chair; Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Somebody did this,” Steve said. “And it wasn’t me. And that means—”

“I think Banner did it,” Rhodey said suddenly.

“What? No, I didn’t,” Bruce about-faced, shrinking into his chair. “Really, Cap, I had nothing to—I don’t even _drink_ coffee,” he begged.

Steve rolled his eyes, pacing the length of the kitchen. “I know it wasn’t you,” he snapped. “And I doubt it was Barton, which leaves—”

“Nose goes?” Clint suggested.

To Steve’s confusion and as a testament of their sheer camaraderie, everyone put one finger on the side of their nose. Bizarre. “Hah!” Clint crowed. “I knew it! ‘Twas Cap who—”

“Barton, get out,” Steve deadpanned.

“Sure. Can I just squeeze in a cup of coffee?”

Steve growled audibly. “ _No._ ” He scanned the room—Sam, Rhodey, and Nat were seated at the breakfast bar; Bruce was curled up in a lounge chair by the windows trying desperately not to exist; the Vision was seated on the adjacent couch; and Thor was in the far corner cheerfully devouring what appeared to be a whole roast lamb—and finally asked, “Thor?”

Making a great deal of a hearty meal, Thor crunched a bone. “No, I won’t be sharing,” Thor assured happily. “This is mine. I struck it down, myself.”

Convinced he would not be getting anywhere that way, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “I will offer a $20 _reward_ to the person who—”

“C’mon, man. At least a hundred,” Sam wheedled.

“ _No_. This is a punishment,” Steve said, pulling out a crisp twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and setting it on the counter in front of him. “So. Who did it?”

“I did it, just let me clean it up,” Bruce insisted, panicking, scurrying over and attacking the sink with a towel.

Steve sighed, saying, “Bruce, I _know_ it wasn’t—” but Bruce just resumed panic-cleaning the kitchen sink.

When Steve turned around, the twenty-dollar bill had disappeared. He glared at Sam, who just arched both eyebrows innocently. “What? I didn’t see it.”

“ _Who_ —”

“Steven, I would like a serving of pancakes,” Thor declared suddenly. “Please and thank you.”

“I’m not the maid,” Steve growled.

“I’d go for pancakes,” Natasha added serenely.

“Me, three,” Rhodey said.

“I’m good,” Sam assured. “Unless you wanna offer up another reward?”

Steering Bruce away from the sink so he would stop splashing water everywhere with the detachable sink nozzle—the future was truly a terrible place of surprises and unnecessary inventions—Steve growled, “I am _not_ making _anything_ —”

“I’ll make them,” Bruce interjected, turning in his hold, grasping his shirt desperately. “Don’t eat me.”

Looking heavenward for moral support, Steve said, “ _If I make_ —”

“Yes,” Natasha said at once.

Grumbling audibly— _goddamn_ kids—Steve pulled out a mixing bowl, warned, “I want an apology. _In writing_ ,” and started pulling out pancake ingredients. “You kids are really starting to get on my nerves, you know that?”

“Captain, if I may,” began the Vision.

“You may not,” Steve grunted.

“I am the only individual of child-qualifying age,” the Vision finished anyway. To spite him, Steve was sure.

“You are all children in my eyes,” assured Thor. “Absolutely miniscule. You are, what, seven hundred?”

“I am eighteen months old,” the Vision replied earnestly.

 _Goddamn kids_ , Steve repeated, silently, to himself, as Thor laughed and insisted that they were all babies. Then he requested that Steve speed up _time_ so the pancakes would be ready faster. “This is not a reward,” Steve reminded.

“You should put blueberries in them, though,” Natasha suggested. “As a punishment.”

Steve considered putting sliced bananas to spite her, remembered _reverse psychology_ , and decisively added blueberries instead. “I don’t like this,” Steve reflected. “It doesn’t feel like a punishment.”

“Maybe _you_ put coffee grounds in the sink,” Sam offered. “This is your punishment.”

Steve scowled at the pan. “Don’t pin this back on me.”

“It is awfully suspicious that he brought it up,” Rhodey confided to Sam, who nodded. 

Fuming, Steve flipped the first round of pancakes.

“Right? That’s what I’m thinking,” Sam said. Raising his voice, he added with far too much feigned sympathy: “It’s fine, Cap, really—we all have senior moments.”

Flipping the pancakes with more force than strictly necessary, Steve said, “Try me, Sam. Just try me.”

Grinning hugely, Sam said, “I could take you, any day, any time.”

Stacking pancakes onto a plate and passing it to Rhodes, Steve said, “Good behavior.”

“Respect,” Rhodey said with a regal nod, offering a fist. Steve bumped his own against it, pleased he remembered how to respond. He’d shaken it, twice, before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to. “See, us Army guys, we—”

“Oh, you couldn’t screw in a lightbulb,” Sam sighed. “C’mon, Cap. You love me.”

Grumbling inaudibly, Steve poured out another batch. “No. You’re all losing privileges.”

Bruce asked with painful sincerity: “Please don’t disconnect the Wi-Fi.”

“That’s a great idea,” Steve said at once. He’d purposefully stored the router next to his own bed, and while Stark Tech was above and beyond, it was still vulnerable to being unplugged.

“C’mon, Cap,” Sam repeated, more coaxing. “That’s just _mean_.”

“Cruel and unusual,” agreed Natasha. “Might have to buy another router.” She said it in a suspiciously dry tone, and Steve had the strong inkling that they already had, demanding:

“When did you _get_ it?”

“I didn’t,” Natasha said firmly, looking far too self-satisfied. “It’s just a hypothetical, Steve.”

Flipping the second batch, Steve grunted, “Thor, you want—”

“Three dozen,” Thor called back. “Forthwith.”

“You know, I think he did it,” Sam speculated suddenly, nodding at the big guy in the corner. “Guy’s from another planet. Easy mistake to make. Cultural differences.”

“You really think you’re cute,” Steve steamed.

“I am cute. Do you need a hug?”

Sliding the plate to Natasha, Steve glowered at him. “I think you do,” Sam insisted cheerfully. “You just need a hug.”

Not deigning that with a response, Steve returned to his pancake-making, stacking up a pile, nine big, fluffy pancakes. “Start with that,” he ordered Thor, who pushed aside the horrifying remains of the roast lamb carcass and set out to decimate the pancakes instead. “ _Use a fork_ ,” he ordered, as Thor tore off a fragment, dipped it in a bowl of syrup, and ate it. “Gonna get syrup all over the damn couch. _What?_ ” he thundered at the Vision, who had wrapped both synthetic arms around him.

“Mr. Wilson said it was critical for your health,” the Vision replied innocently. “I am merely servicing you.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Steve roared.

“Nope, thirty seconds,” Sam said. Steve strained to free himself, but the Vision was not merely robot-strong—he was _Mind Stone_ strong. And that just wasn’t fair.

Still, Steve wasn’t about to _give up_. He hauled; the Vision cranked his grip, skirting bruising force, and Sam finally said, “All right,” just as the Vision released him.

Not quite expecting it, he tripped over the coffee table and landed on Bruce, who had nearly succeeded in burying himself in the couch. “Uncle! Uncle!” he cried defenselessly.

“I _quit_ ,” Steve fumed. The Vision offered him a hand up. It took absolutely everything in his power not to slap it away out of spite.

“I would like more pancakes,” Thor told him, holding up his empty plate. “Extra syrup. Forthwith.”

Aware that he was crushing Bruce, Steve hauled himself up, snatched the plate, and chucked it like a frisbee across the room. It landed in pieces in the corner. “ _No_.”

Thor, delighted, said, “Is this a new game?”

Sam shoved his chair back, fetched a whole stack of plates from the cupboard, and set them on the counter invitingly. “Go for it, man.”

Thor heaved himself out of his chair, cheerfully stated, “I can throw a discus many fathoms; this will be very easy,” and before Steve could think of a counterargument beyond, _Put the goddamn plate down_ , Thor had launched it with an almighty huff straight out the window. The window shattered, Bruce bellowed in alarm, and Thor cried, “Hah! I would like to see you try,” to Steve, as if he already knew his toss could not be bested and delighted in the fact.

Rubbing a hand over his face mutely, Steve wandered back into the kitchen and stated very calmly, “Take it outside.”

“But then I will not be near the food,” Thor reminded, frowning. “This is most unideal.”

“I do not care,” Steve said firmly. Swiping the plates for good measure, he returned them to the cabinet, shut it, and said, “If everyone does not _get outside_ in the next _five seconds_ , I swear to the Almighty that I will—”

“What?” Tony asked, polite, waiting, and Steve paused, turned to face him, and blurted:

“What’re you doing here?”

“Uh.” Shrugging out of his coat, Tony said, “I don’t know, Barton said you’d killed Bruce, kind of wanted to—hi, Brucey bear,” he added in the same tone, as Bruce launched himself across the room, darting over and clinging to Tony like a limpet. Patting him firmly on the shoulder, Tony added, “Anyway, I will take blueberry pancakes.”

“All out,” Natasha said. “Cap—”

“Aw. Damn. Hey, J., do we have blueberries in storage?”

“ _Of course, sir._ ”

“Terrific. Um,” he said, looking down at Bruce, hand halting. “You okay?”

“Please. Stay.” Bruce’s voice was barely a whisper, but Steve, senses enhanced, heard it. And he winced bodily as Thor hucked another plate out the gaping hole in the window, declaring, “It’s not as fun without the glass portal.”

“Thor, for _fuck’s_ sake,” Steve growled. “Take it _outside_.”

“Oh, so, one of those mornings,” Tony said cheerfully, finally _prying_ Bruce off of himself. “Wow, gee, it is nice to be missed— _ow_ ,” he complained, withdrawing his hand from Rhodey’s pile of pancakes as Rhodey jabbed him with a fork and told him:

“Hands off the dough.”

“What? Can’t _share_? Rude.” Sidling over to Steve, he looked him over once, said, “So, I take it everything was—” He paused meaningfully as Thor shattered another window with a third plate toss, then finished: “—great, while I was gone?”

“You’re back,” Steve said, hung up on it. Tony got back _tonight_. Tony was here _now_. Steve’s heart was beating very fast. He didn’t know if he was happy or angry—mostly, he was exhausted, and kind of hungry, and about to break Bruce’s wrist for Thor’s crimes against humanity. “How did you—”

“Meh,” Tony said, shrugging and saying dismissively, “I’m miraculous.” He didn’t go in for a hug, just reached out, straightened Steve’s shirt with a tug—fucking _Vision_ , Steve steamed, some of his ire returning as he scanned the room, in varying states of chaos. 

Bruce was huddling _under_ a couch, Thor was gleefully preparing to pitch two plates out the window, the Vision was supervising him, Natasha was nibbling pancakes while consulting her portable telephone, and Sam and Rhodey were watching them. Sam looked hopeful; Rhodey looked bored. “I am not giving you a reward for bad behavior,” Steve snipped.

“But you could,” Sam reminded, his voice still light, amused. It wasn’t _fair_ , Steve thought, suddenly petty. Being a commanding officer, however implicitly, sucked. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Thor chucked the plates—one flew out the window, and the other flew right towards him. He caught it easily, his reflexes perfectly honed for such events as _God of Thunder attempts decapitation for the gold_. The sudden silence was powerful, nobody entirely sure what to say. Not even Steve, holding the plate out steadily, well away from his own or, oh God, _Tony’s_ head.

“That is a really, _really_ good plate,” Sam reflected first, impressed.

“Yeah, they’re like, super break-resistant,” Tony said cheerfully, plucking it from Steve’s hand and then smashing it as hard as he could at the floor. It shattered, and he laughed. “Well, that one had a hard day. Gimme a new one,” he said.

Steve steered him firmly towards the door, both hands on his waist. “Well, it’s been nice seeing you all. Not you,” he added, pointing at Natasha, who flipped him the bird. “Hey, look nice and I’ll take you out to dinner tonight, look bad and we’re still going.”

Waiting until the door shut behind them to even consider speaking, Steve loosened his grip so Tony could turn around and look at him, beaming, “There really is no place like home.”

Steve rested his forehead on Tony’s shoulder. Just rested it there.

“Aww, I missed you, too,” Tony preened, basking in the moment. “I told them to be nice, were they nice?” He rubbed up and down Steve’s back vigorously, but Steve didn’t move, his hands light on Tony’s waist, his forehead heavy on his shoulder. “S’fine, you know, I’ll kick their ass at paintball. _Not_ Thor,” he warned, shuddering under Steve. “We are never teaching that man how to fire a _gun_ , even a toy gun.”

“I missed you,” Steve admitted quietly.

“I really don’t like that the Vision knows how to fire a marshmallow gun, but—what’s up?” he interrupted himself, stilling his hands. “You’re being quiet. It was only a week. That’s not that bad. Really, I could take a three-month _sojourn_ to Everest, _that_ would be brutal.”

Sighing, Steve lifted his head grudgingly—Tony was so damn _comfortable_ , and maybe he did want a hug, just not from a _robot_ —and looked him in the eye. “Aww,” Tony said, cupping his face. “I know life isn’t worth living without me, but there’s a few perks. I can’t steal the covers,” he said, sliding one hand to Steve’s shoulder, the other pointing with the weight of his realization. “That’s actually a damn good one, how do you feel about bunk beds?”

“Tony,” Steve said, quiet but sincere. “I love you.”

“Well, gee,” Tony said, cupping his face again, wagging his head slowly back and forth a couple times, affectionate, earnest. “I can’t top that. Meanie.”

“You knew that.”

“I did,” Tony admitted, leaning up a little to kiss him. “Why’s Thor throwing plates out my windows?” he murmured, huddling against Steve, neat in his arms.

Steve leaned his back against the wall and sighed. “Long story.”

“Was it the coffee grounds again? You know, if you can’t change the culprit, change the garbage disposal,” he decided. “I’ll work on a filter.”

“You just got back,” Steve murmured. “Relax a minute.”

“Oh, I will. You _bet_ I will. And then I’ll solve the coffee grounds problem. Should be easy.”

“It _was_ me, by the way,” Clint said, apparently in passing. “But that’s very big of you, Stark.”

“I’m gonna break your arm,” Tony said cheerfully, and gently broke free of Steve’s grip to chase him down. Clint bolted.

Returning to the pandemonium in the kitchen, confident Tony would join him in due time, Steve only winced a little at the sight of broken windows, half-eaten lamb carcass, and Sam greeting, “Oh, hey, more pancakes?”

Sighing, Steve said, “Sure.” He heard a loud thunk down the hall, followed by a muffled, “Ow, ow, ow! Hey!”

Pouring another batch onto the stove, taking advantage of the secret stash of blueberries, Steve looked over as the door slid open and Tony and Clint walked in. Tony had Clint’s arm pinned behind his back. “Behold,” he said gravely. “The fool.”

“To be fair, I _confessed_ ,” Clint pointed out, over Thor’s laughter.

“Nope, doesn’t matter,” Tony said. Releasing him, Tony added, “All right. Be good. Don’t torture Bruce.”

Bruce whimpered from under the couch. Steve said automatically, “He won’t.”

“Can’t wait to see you as a Dad,” Sam said, amused. Steve winced. Tony beamed.

“ _I_ will make a _great_ Dad,” he chimed in.

Flipping pancakes, Steve just said, “I already got my hands full.” He smiled a little as Tony plastered himself against his back, focusing on the pancakes but stupidly happy to have him back.

Parenting was thankless. Exhausting. But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.


End file.
